


If you lose everything

by Hypatia_66



Series: Early days [20]
Category: The Man From U.N.C.L.E. (TV)
Genre: Gen, Insecurity
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-09-14
Updated: 2020-09-14
Packaged: 2021-03-06 20:48:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,086
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26461441
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hypatia_66/pseuds/Hypatia_66
Summary: LJ Short Affair challenge. Prompts: slide, blackIllya takes nothing for granted - with reason
Relationships: Illya Kuryakin & Napoleon Solo
Series: Early days [20]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/828864
Comments: 2
Kudos: 27





	If you lose everything

<><><>

Successfully paired-up UNCLE agents tended to either get on well and practically live together, or worked well together but kept their private lives as separate as humanly possible – which wasn’t always possible at all.

The Solo-Kuryakin partnership was still in its early days and so far Illya Kuryakin’s private life was an almost total mystery and his abode possibly the least accessible in any partnership. But after that night’s affair, Kuryakin had realised that Solo shouldn’t go home alone and offered to put him up.

He helped Solo out of the cab, half-carried him up all the flights of stairs and ushered him into the apartment.

“You’d better have my bed,” he said as Napoleon looked at his sofa with misgiving. “Do you want something to eat first? Drink?”

Napoleon shook his head. He wanted nothing more than to lie down and lapse into unconsciousness. “Just sleep,” he said.

Illya indicated the bathroom as he led him past into his bedroom, and then watched him fall face down, fully dressed across his bed. He shrugged and dragged some of the bedding over him.

<><>

Waking in the early hours feeling cold, Napoleon tried to slide between the sheets. His shoes and outer garments proving an impediment, he struggled out of them before getting under the covers. He briefly wondered if Illya was warm enough wherever he had bedded down, but the thought failed to rouse him enough to check before he surrendered to sleep again.

In the morning, Napoleon woke properly and looked around. Illya’s room, revealed in daylight, was a shabby affair. Apart from the bed there was just a nightstand and a closet. Now curious, he slipped out of bed, tiptoed across the bare floor and opened its door.

Inside hung a grey suit and a couple of white shirts. On the shelves were two or three black turtle-necks, some underwear and a tie. On the floor was a pair of shoes. It was so unlike Napoleon’s own closets (plural) that he was stunned.

He returned to the bed and looked under it to see a box and a small suitcase – small by Napoleon’s standards, anyway. The dust and fluff were a deterrent to further investigation. He looked at his watch – it was nearly 9.00. Waverly would be calling any minute. He opened the door and listened. There was no sound from Illya, so, wearing just underpants and tee-shirt, he went to the bathroom.

Before venturing into the shower, he hunted for soap and a towel. The soap appeared to consist of a sliver of the cheapest variety, while the single spare towel, with which he would have to dab himself dry, was of minute proportions. He therefore gave up on the shower, had a quick strip wash without shaving – the razor looked lethal – and returned to the bedroom to dress.

There was no sign of Illya when he emerged again. Napoleon looked into the kitchen for some kind of sustenance. Apart from tea, cheese, and a bottle of vodka in the freezer compartment of the fridge, there was nothing else.

The sound of a key in the lock and the clicks and pops of the security system announced Illya’s entrance. He walked in carrying a bag of groceries and, smiling at Napoleon, said, “I have bought something for breakfast. I hope you slept well? ”

“I did – and thanks for letting me have your bed. Weren’t you cold out here?”

“I had my coat,” Illya said and opened the bag of groceries to discourage further enquiry. “Bread rolls, butter and jam, and pastries.”

“Very nice.”

Illya clapped a hand to his mouth. “Coffee! You like coffee, don’t you? I forgot.”

“Tea is fine, Illya – we can go to the canteen later for coffee.”

Illya looked at him doubtfully and then turned to find plates and cups, which turned out to be ill-matched but functional. Breakfast was adequate, and the tea was good, though Napoleon on the whole preferred to have milk and even sugar in it, neither of which was forthcoming. It wasn’t a prolonged repast.

“We’d better go,” he said putting down his cup. “Mr Waverly will be frothing at the mouth if we get there any later.”

<><>

As they settled down to work in their shared office, Napoleon looked up and said, “Illya… thanks for last night.”

“You thanked me before.” Illya was looking for typing paper and spoke absently.

“Er, I couldn’t help noticing how little stuff you have. We ought to get you some more clothes… and soap and towels – that sort of thing.”

“We? You mean _I_ should get myself some?”

“I can show you where to buy things.”

“Thank you,” said Illya, his tone cool, “but I need nothing.”

“Don’t you _want_ more?”

“All I need, I have.”

“Not even a few extras – like bigger, softer, towels for instance? Some finer soap? Some warmer bedding for the winter?”

“You found my arrangements so inadequate?”

Napoleon squirmed a little. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to be rude – just … there’s so much more you could have and be comfortable.”

“You think I am not capable of living the American dream?”

Napoleon protested faintly.

“Then let me ask you, my friend… have you ever lacked for anything?”

“I guess not,” he replied cautiously.

“Has everything you had ever been taken from you?”

Napoleon confessed that, no, it hadn’t.

“Because if everything you had, everything you ever loved, if even your liberty to choose is taken from you, there is nothing you can take for granted ever again.”

Napoleon met Illya’s eyes as he continued, as if despite himself, “So you do not try to acquire things that might be taken from you. Things that you don’t need. You travel as light as possible through life.”

“I see. It sounds like a living death, but I think I understand.”

“I doubt it, my friend,” Illya replied, but his smile took the sting out of it and Napoleon was emboldened to ask a question.

“Okay… So, can I just ask – what’s in the box under your bed? Something you need?”

Illya flushed. “Records… jazz records. I bought them when I arrived in New York.”

“Do you have a record player?” Napoleon asked curiously – he hadn’t noticed one.

The flush deepened. “No.”

“When’s your birthday?”

Illya looked up, startled by the non sequitur and surprised into saying, “This week.”

“Then it will be my gift for your first birthday as my partner,” Napoleon said nonchalantly, and (a little smugly) waved away his partner’s incoherent protest.

<><><>


End file.
